


All the Days of My Life

by RedRowan



Series: The Boxer's Daughter [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bachelorette Party, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Matt Murdock, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Female Matt Murdock, Fluff and Smut, Roman Catholicism, Rule 63, Stag Nights & Bachelor Parties, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, Weddings, girl!Matt Murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedRowan/pseuds/RedRowan
Summary: The Nelson-Murdock wedding (and associated events), featuring appearances by burlesque dancers, strippers, the Rite of Marriage, Train, and a whole lot of saying "I love you."





	1. You're Not Allowed to Grope Strip-o-grams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancinbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/gifts).



> This is total fluff. No conflict, the entirety of the plot can be summed up as "they get married." I just wanted to let these two be disgustingly happy for a little while. :)
> 
> And credit goes to dancinbutterfly, who asked over in the comments for Not Done Growing Up for both the wedding and the bachelor/bachelorette parties. I swear, I had this all planned, I was just waiting for the timeline to catch up!

Mattie hadn’t wanted a bachelorette party.

“My very limited understanding of bachelorette parties,” she’d said, “is that there’s a fairly important visual aspect to the whole thing. Besides, who would come?”

“Well, there’s Karen,” Pam had said, not taking no for an answer. “And what about your friend Claire, the one you were helping with her lease?” Claire’s landlord had tried to evict her at the end of the year, mostly due to Mattie’s comings and goings at all hours. Since everyone agreed it was Mattie’s fault, she and Foggy had stepped in to legally browbeat the landlord into letting Claire stay. Pam had run into Claire more than a few times at the Nelson & Murdock office.

“Four of us isn’t a party, it’s an episode of _Sex and the City_ ,” Mattie had grumbled.

“OK, first of all, try using _Girls_ as a reference instead. And four is plenty for a party. And before you say it, I’ve got a plan to get around the visual aspect.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to grope strip-o-grams.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

And then Pam had refused to tell her anything else. It was infuriating. She’d managed to get Karen to give her Claire’s email address, and then she’d organized everything by email. Not a single phone call that Mattie could eavesdrop on. Karen and Claire had presented a united front, and hadn’t let a word slip.

“Trust me, it’ll be fun,” Karen had said. She hadn’t been lying.

So Mattie is on the subway downtown, sitting between Claire and Karen, trying to wheedle it out of them. The only hint she has is Pam’s instructions to wear something comfortable that she can move in, and to bring fancier clothes to change into.

“At least tell me if there’s going to be alcohol,” she says.

“Yes, of course there’s going to be alcohol,” Karen says.

“What _kind_ of alcohol?”

“The kind you drink,” says Claire.

_I can beat information out of criminals in under ten minutes, but I can’t get my friends to tell me where they’re taking me._

It’s been an unusually mild January, so the walk from the subway station isn’t too bad. Karen has the address on her phone, and is following the Google Maps directions, leading the way while Mattie takes Claire’s arm, and the walk only takes them a few minutes. Mattie listens to the sounds of the East Village. An argument in an apartment. A baby crying. A cab squealing to a stop.

Karen leads them through a door into a space that smells a little like a gym from the sweat, but with the scents of women’s beauty products overlaid. Mattie can hear music and instructions being called out, and feet and bodies striking against wooden floors.

_A dance studio._

“A dance class?” she says to Claire.

“I’ll let Pam tell you,” says Claire.

Karen has directions from the receptionist to their studio, and Mattie can hear Pam inside, bare feet on the wooden floor. She’s talking to another woman.

“…looked up tips online,” the woman is saying, “so I hope it’ll be all right.”

“Oh, here they are!” says Pam. “Hey!”

There’s a round of greetings as coats and boots are taken off.

“So, Mattie…” Pam starts.

“It’s a dance class,” says Mattie.

“Yes. But it’s a _burlesque_ dance class. This is Estelle, she’s the instructor, I’ve already gone over everything with her.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure you have a great time,” says Estelle, shaking Mattie’s outstretched hand. “Have you taken a dance class before?”

“No, but I do have some martial arts training,” Mattie says. She can practically hear Karen and Claire rolling their eyes at the understatement.

“Oh,” Estelle says. “That’s…wow, that’s a new one. OK. Uh, what’s the best way for you to learn movement?”

Mattie smiles, the one she learned to put people at their ease. “It’s usually best if you guide me through it first.”

“Great! Are you comfortable with me touching you, and with touching me?”

“Sure.”

“Amazing. This is going to be fun! OK, ladies, lovely to meet you. As Pam said, I’m Estelle, I perform burlesque under the name Estelle Luxe, and I’m going to be teaching you a sexy chair routine today! It’s my first time teaching a blind student, so please let me know if there’s anything I can be doing to help you more, and let’s have some fun!”

She learns everyone’s names, and has them pull a chair each into a wide circle, Mattie next to her, and issues them each a pair of elbow-length gloves. She starts slowly, teaching them moves in small groups. She’ll demonstrate herself, then guide Mattie through the moves. There’s some giggling around the circle as Estelle encourages them to be sexy and flirty and confident.

“Trust me, I’ve never seen a burlesque routine fail as long as you just be yourself!”

Shimmy, twist, grind, and kick. It’s fun, Mattie decides, using her body for something other than inflicting pain. Estelle lets her feel her body as she goes through the moves, flirting playfully when Mattie slides her hands over her hips.

“Lucky bride,” Estelle laughs.

“Well, she’s giving up boobs for the rest of her life, so that’s debatable,” Pam quips, in the middle of a shimmy.

“Awww,” cooes Estelle. “I’ll teach you a tit-shake, just for that.”

She does, letting Mattie respectfully grope her.

Mattie impresses her when she does a backbend perfectly on the first go, her hair brushing the floor, neatly curling up without using her hands.

“That’s some core strength,” Estelle says.

Claire laughs, and nearly overbalances.

At the end of the hour, Estelle has them go through the whole routine, playing a lively jazz song for them. Mattie lets her body take over, and imagines Foggy watching her, the way his heart would speed up, the way his breathing would change. The way he responds when he watches her strip out of the suit at night.

She could get used to this, feeling powerful, in control, and not having to hide.

Then the song is over, and they’re changing into their fancy clothes, thanking Estelle for her above-and-beyond effort, and she’s Mattie Murdock again, blind lawyer and bride-to-be. Pam takes her arm and leads her out to the street.

“So how’d you come up with that?” Mattie says as they walk along Lafayette.

“Well, what you were saying about not being able to grope the strippers…a few friends of mine had taken classes there before, and I thought, if we can’t have strippers, might as well learn how to do it ourselves!” Mattie laughs. “So I gave them a call and told them that one of the group would be blind, and Estelle seemed really into it. We talked on the phone a bit, she’s really interested in making their classes more accessible.”

“She was really great.”

“Yeah, she was. And I’m jealous, by the way, because she did have amazing tits.” Pam squeezes Mattie’s hand against her side. “You have fun?”

“Yeah, I really did.”

“Good, ‘cause the night is young, and we’re just getting started!”

It turns out that there’s a part two of Pam’s plan, which involves a _very_ fancy cocktail bar (Claire informs Mattie that they don’t even have a sign out front). Mattie lets the others take turns ordering her drinks: Karen tends toward dark, whiskey-based concoctions, Claire picks cool, fruity ones, while Pam is the most adventurous, ordering the most outlandish drinks on the menu.

“Is there…bacon in this?” Mattie says as she takes a sip.

“Bacon-infused vodka,” Pam says.

“Oh, you got her that one?” says Karen.

“Want to try?” Mattie says, holding out the glass.

Karen shrugs. “Sure.” She takes a sip, and pauses before she swallows. She shakes her head. “Sorry, I can’t do it. Meat isn’t a drink flavor.”

Mattie laughs and holds out her hand for the glass. “I don’t know, I kind of like it,” she says, taking another sip. She can taste Karen’s lipstick on the straw. “It’s…complex.”

“And meaty.”

At the end of the next round, Karen goes up to the crowded bar to order, and Mattie feels a prickle at the back of her neck when she hears a guy come up behind Karen and try to strike up a conversation. Mattie can hear Karen’s discomfort, her short, non-committal answers, trying to defuse the situation while the guy tells her he wants to buy her a drink and gets into her space.

“Ugh, I think I have to go rescue Karen,” Mattie says, grabbing her cane. 

“What?” says Pam. Mattie nods towards the bar and starts to stand up. Claire puts a hand on her arm.

“I’ll take care of it,” she says. She strides over to where Karen is standing at the bar and fits herself in between Karen and the guy. “Mattie thought you might need a hand,” she says, not sparing the guy a glance.

“Uh, we were talking here,” says the guy.

“No, you weren’t,” says Claire. “You get to order yet?” she says to Karen.

“Yeah, they’re just making them now,” says Karen.

“Hey, lady -“ starts the guy. Claire turns on him slowly, and Mattie can only imagine the expression on her face. She’s pretty sure she’s been on the receiving end of it herself.

“Hey, don’t talk to my friend that way,” snaps Karen.

“See ya,” says Claire. It’s an order.

The guy leaves with a mumbled “just trying to be friendly.”

“Bye, Felicia,” Claire sing-songs before she and Karen burst out laughing. They carry the drinks over to the table, still giggling.

“So, you saved the damsel in distress?” says Pam.

“I wasn’t in _distress_ ,” says Karen. “It’s…no, it’s fine, it’s nothing.”

“Guy was a dick,” declares Claire. “You deserve better.”

“We _all_ deserve better than that,” says Karen, raising her glass.

“Karen’s raising her glass,” says Pam.

“Oh.” Mattie raises her glass.

“To Foggy,” Karen says. “Who is the good man that Mattie deserves.”

“To Foggy,” the other three chorus, and they clink their glasses into Mattie’s before drinking. Karen got Mattie something with Scotch and citrus and honey.

“Seriously, though, he’s probably the last good man in New York,” Karen continues.

“Well, that means I’m still fine,” says Pam.

“Yeah, but Claire and I are screwed.”

“Come over to our side!” Pam chirps. “We’re way more fun.”

“Oh, wish I could…” sighs Claire.

The night fades into a haze of laughter and alcohol. Claire, being the only one besides Mattie who lives in Hell’s Kitchen, is given the job of getting her home. In the cab, Mattie slumps against the window.

“You feeling OK?” says Claire.

“‘M fine…”

“You going to throw up?”

“…no…”

Mattie’s dimly aware of Claire’s hand stroking her hair.

“This was fun,” Claire says softly.

She drags Mattie up the six flights of stairs to her apartment, and unlocks the door when Mattie has difficulty finding the lock.

“Think this is yours,” she says as Foggy catches a stumbling Mattie.

“Yup, all mine. You guys have a good night?” he says.

“I learned how to striptease,” says Mattie.

“Pam organized a burlesque class,” clarifies Claire. “Then there were…” She waves a hand.

“Large amounts of alcohol?” says Foggy.

“ _Really_ good alcohol,” says Mattie. “I had one with bacon in it.”

“That part’s true,” says Claire. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks for getting her home,” says Foggy.

“It’s what I do.”

Once the door closes behind Claire, Mattie wraps her arms around Foggy’s neck and starts nuzzling at his skin.

“I had a _really_ good night…” she whispers. “You smell so good…”

“Yeah, no, not happening, kitten,” he says as he half-carries her to the bedroom.

“Why not?” she says (she _does not_ whine).

“Because I’m pretty sure you can’t legally consent right now. Also, I’m not convinced you’re not going to throw up.”

“I’m not going to throw up,” she says as Foggy efficiently unzips her dress. “I am _completely_ aware of what my body is doing at all times.” Her hand smacks against his shoulder as she gestures. “I meant to do that.”

“Yeah, if the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen could see you now…” He has her dress and tights off, and he reaches around to unhook her bra. As it comes off, she catches his cheek and kisses him.

“You’re a good man,” she whispers. “You’re the best man I know.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just gently pushes her back onto the bed and pulls the covers over her.

“Go to sleep,” he says instead.

The last thing she’s aware of is Foggy putting a large bowl by her side of the bed. She doesn’t throw up during the night. The fact that she throws up in the morning thanks to her hangover is _completely_ unrelated.


	2. I'm a Bad Feminist

Scheduling for the week leading up to the wedding had been a little complicated. Jason, Foggy’s freshman year roommate and best man, is taking a red eye from LA on the Friday night, landing in New York on Saturday morning. The wedding is the next Friday, giving Jason and Candace a one-week window to schedule Foggy’s bachelor party. Thursday is out, because 1) the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner are scheduled for then, and 2) Mattie will murder them all if Foggy shows up to the wedding hung over.

Jason and Candace settle on Sunday night, since it gives Jason a day to recover from the flight, and they think the strip club might be less crowded on a Sunday.

“I’m sorry, what?” says Foggy, on the phone with Candace.

“Less crowded,” she says.

“You said ‘strip club.’”

“Yeah. It’s a bachelor party.”

“And you’re OK with that?”

“I expect to get a lap dance from a highly skilled dancer, but otherwise, yes.”

“You realize Mattie’s going to kill me, right?” He glances across the apartment, where Mattie is dressed in her Daredevil suit, holding her helmet in her hand. She cocks her head; she hasn’t been listening.

“Mattie’ll be fine with it,” Candace is saying. “I’ll talk her down, if you need it.”

Mattie arches her eyebrows.

“I’ll take care of it,” Foggy says. Once he gets off the phone, Mattie starts laughing. “I take it you’re OK with the current plan?”

“Mmm, strippers and booze? What could go wrong?” There’s a laugh dancing around the corners of her mouth. “I _am_ going to give Jason a hard time about this, though.”

“I would not blame you. Give him hell.”

She smiles and kisses the top of his head before she runs up the stairs.

Mattie’s true to her word when they have lunch with Jason the day he arrives. Jason laughs it off, and asks what she did for her bachelorette.

“Pam arranged a burlesque dance class,” she says haughtily.

“So…you _learned_ how to be a stripper?”

“It’s not stripping, it’s a tasteful celebration of female power and sexuality.” She grins. “And the instructor had to feel me up. For educational purposes.”

Jason laughs. “How does this happen to you? Do women just throw themselves at you on the street?” It’s a question Jason has been asking since they were all eighteen years old.

“It’s the real reason she carries a cane,” Foggy says. Mattie pokes him. He grabs her hand, and they wrestle a little in their bench seat, laughing.

“I missed you guys,” Jason says.

“We miss you too, man,” Foggy says.

Candace and Jason have made reservations for dinner before they go to the strip club, but they swing by the apartment to pick Foggy up. Foggy, who is currently debating what he should wear that is appropriate for dinner and strippers. Mattie and Pam are in the living room going over last-minute arrangements while Foggy holds up two shirts.

“I’m pretty sure the strippers don’t care what you’re wearing,” Mattie says.

“The bouncers might,” says Pam brightly. “The blue shirt is nice.”

“Thank you, Pam, that’s very helpful,” says Foggy pointedly as Mattie opens the door for Jason and Candace. There’s a flurry of hellos and hugging and “Can’t wait for Friday!” while Foggy changes his shirt.

“Brett’s meeting us at the restaurant,” Candace says, looking up from her phone. “He’s going to be a few minutes late, apparently somebody started a fight in the station.”

Oh, yes, Brett. After over twenty years of friendly animosity, Brett is now someone that Foggy can invite to his bachelor party and wedding. Funny, how taking down a criminal kingpin will change a relationship.

_Funny, how taking down a criminal kingpin will change a person._

Mattie, at least, will be staying in tonight. She is under strict orders not to go out Daredevilling this week, since no-one wants her showing up to the wedding with a black eye or a broken rib. So tonight is Foggy’s night: he can just relax without worrying that he’s going to come home to find her bleeding out on the floor. Again.

Candace and Jason hustle him out the door to the restaurant: a burger joint Foggy had introduced Jason to during college that Jason insists on visiting every time he’s in New York.

“Seriously, they do _not_ know how to do good burgers in LA. I have been _dreaming_ about this since I got on the plane.”

Brett is only a little late, telling them a story about two guys having a go at each other in the drunk tank. 

“Simpson got punched in the face, but, you know, nobody else was hurt.”

They have a few beers with their burgers, on the assumption that booze will be ridiculously expensive at the strip club. Foggy laughs and jokes and feels like a person who doesn’t have blood on his hands.

Candace goes to the bathroom, and Brett steps away to take a phone call. Jason looks at Foggy, an odd expression on his face that Foggy can’t place.

“Everything OK?” Foggy says.

“Yeah, man. Just…” Jason shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Before Foggy can ask, Candace comes back, and they grab Brett on the way out of the restaurant after Jason pays the bill.

The strip club is called Ruby Red’s; according to Mattie, it is the least shady strip club in Midtown West (or, at least, the girls seem the most content whenever Daredevil crosses their path). Ruby’s is apparently famous for its themed nights: Country and Western night (the girls in cowboy hats, dancing with lassoos), or BDSM night (dog collars, routines using handcuffs or whips). And tonight is…

“Oh, no,” says Foggy.

Superhero night.

He’s almost too distracted by the (horrifying) possibilities that he misses Candace’s “wow” as they sit down at the table the waitress has led them to. Foggy glances up at the stage, where a girl in a green wig and purple thong is holding herself perfectly horizontal on the pole with one arm. He stares as the girl easily brings her leg up to the pole and spins down to the ground upside-down, before putting her hands down and cartwheeling off the pole. The men seated at the edge of the stage are tossing bills at her feet. She smiles at one of them, then reaches back and spins gracefully around the pole. She’s actually…mesmerizing.

Jason and Candace are leaning in to talk, then Candace taps Foggy’s shoulder, and shouts in his ear over the music.

“We get a private room in about an hour!” she shouts. “Tell Jason which dancer you want, and he’ll ask if she’s free!”

“OK!”

It’s too loud to have a real conversation.

There’s a beer put down in front of him that he didn’t order. He glances at Jason, who nods, and mouths something like, “on me.” Foggy drinks the beer. The Hulk finishes her dance, and Foggy thinks he wouldn’t mind having a dance from her, she’s at least very good at it. A pretty blonde girl comes out in a blue star-spangled bra and a red thong, and the announcer asks them to welcome “The Sentinel of Liberty, Captain America!” She dances to “American Woman,” and she’s not as good as the Hulk, but her breasts are very nice when she takes off her bra. And she smiles and laughs a lot, and seems to have fun while she’s dancing. The song changes to “Party in the USA,” and she tosses her hair as she swings around the pole.

It goes on like this: Black Widow (not nearly as hot as the real Natasha Romanoff), Iron Man (she has LED pasties on her nipples), Falcon (she gets points for dancing while wearing wings). Foggy likes Iron Man the best; she has a look on her face that says she’s amused by everything going on around her, and she dances like her spine is made of liquid. He leans over and tells Candace to tell Jason, who nods and gives him the thumbs up.

And the moment Foggy was hoping he would not have to witness:

“…and it’s the local girl, the street-level hero! The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil!”

They’re playing “Sympathy for the Devil.” Foggy knows that he will never be able to listen to that song with a straight face ever again. The girl who comes out is much taller than Mattie, with huge tits that can’t be real, wearing red lingerie. She has long red hair, and a pair of Hallowe’en devil horns perched on her head. But when she starts to dance, all Foggy can think is _Mattie is way more flexible than that_. Also, Mattie could kick this girl’s ass with both hands tied behind her back.

He looks at the dancer again, and she’s taking off her bra. _She’s missing a couple dozen scars._ Also, the don’t-fuck-with-me attitude. He’s probably judging the poor woman a little harshly, but _that’s my fiancee you’re dressed up as._ Or…undressed as? He’s too drunk to figure it out.

Jason hustles them all off to their private room before Daredevil finishes dancing. There’s a bottle of champagne waiting for them, and Jason pours them all a drink before the Iron Man and Captain America dancers come in, smiling cheerfully. They introduce themselves: “well, tonight, I guess we’re Toni and Stephanie!” Stephanie jokes with Jason about superhero fetishes before she and Toni give Foggy a lap dance. Stephanie finds out that Foggy’s a lawyer, and reels off an impressive number of lawyer jokes while she dances (tapping out a rimshot on Toni’s ass), and Toni rolls her eyes and laughs before she performs an impressive backbend over Foggy’s lap. Foggy likes them. Once they’re done with Foggy, they each give Jason and Brett a dance. Candace pouts, and Stephanie grins and says, “It’s OK, honey, we’ll save the best for last!” 

True to their word, they give Candace a dance together (“Oh, God, that’s my sister! I can’t watch this!”). When they’re done, they tell Foggy it’s safe to look, and give him one more dance. Foggy teaches Stephanie some more lawyer jokes - he had a friend in law school who collected them.

Jason tips Toni and Stephanie, and they tell Foggy congratulations, she’s a lucky girl. While Jason’s settling up their tab, Foggy glances around the room. Onstage, they’ve switched to fictional superheroes, and Wonder Woman is swinging around the pole. He looks around the audience, and sees Daredevil giving a lapdance.

“This is weird, right?” says Brett beside him, nodding at the Daredevil dancer.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” says Foggy automatically, before catching himself.

“I’m pretty sure _she’s_ going to know I saw this.”

“What - who?”

“The real thing? You seen her in the new suit, the red one? The mask…she looks like she can see into your _soul_.”

Foggy wonders if he should tell Mattie to give Brett a hard time next time she talks to him in the mask. It would only be a _little_ evil.

He and Brett share a cab home, too drunk and too aware of the dangers lurking in dark corners to try walking. Foggy knows there’s no horned hero ready to swoop in to their rescue tonight.

Instead, she’s sitting on the couch when he stumbles in. Pam’s gone, and Mattie’s changed into sweatpants and a hoodie, her socks pulled up over the cuffs of her pants. Funny, how he finds her _socks_ more attractive than the topless dancer with devil horns on her head. He grins and tumbles onto the couch, putting his head in her lap. She’s got a glass of whiskey in her hand, which she sips from as she strokes his hair.

“Have fun?” she says.

“I’m a bad feminist,” he says to her lap.

“Yeah, you should have thought of that _before_ you went and bolstered up the patriarchy.” She sniffs primly.

“I know, I smell like a stripper.”

“More like…a bottle of hairspray mated with some potpourri,” she says, her fingers gentle in his hair.

“Is it bad?”

“It’s pretty bad. So who was this floozy?”

“She was a very nice young lady who gave me two dances and cracked a whole bunch of lawyer jokes.” That makes Mattie laugh. “She was dressed as Captain America, I got a dance from her and Iron Man,” he says, and Mattie nearly spits out the whiskey. “It was superhero night.” Mattie’s coughing up a storm. “You OK?”

“Yeah, fine!” she says, clearing her throat. “Superhero night?”

“Yup. There was a Daredevil.” He rolls over so he’s on his back. Mattie’s grinning.

“Was she hot?”

“Not as hot as you.”

“Good answer.”

He turns his head and breathes in the warm scent of her. “I prefer the real thing,” he says.


	3. What God has Joined, Men must not Divide

Foggy wakes up alone. He has a moment of panic that Mattie isn’t there, before he remembers that she’s at Karen’s, safe and sound. He’d kissed her goodbye after the rehearsal dinner, and he’d see her in a few hours.

When she walks down the aisle. To marry him.

He’s still not quite convinced this is all actually happening.

He makes breakfast, and realizes that he’s made enough for both of them without thinking. _Maybe this is what marriage is like. When your default is thinking the other one’s there._

Mattie being there has been his default since he was nineteen.

He runs his thumb over his ring finger, and thinks that this is the last day he won’t have a ring on it. He smiles at that.

The office is closed today. Karen hung a happy sign saying “Closed for Nelson-Murdock wedding” on the office door when they left yesterday. They’ll be closed on Monday, too, although Karen said she’d go in to, in her words, “do admin stuff.” Probably fight with the office equipment more.

They can’t afford a real honeymoon. Not a vacation with travel costs and such. They can’t afford to be closed for that long, anyway. So their honeymoon is a long weekend in the newly re-opened Waldorf Astoria (post-Incident repairs only just completed). Foggy had grinned and said, “Hey, I wasn’t planning on leaving the hotel room anyway, so might as well stay here.”

But before he gets to _that_ , he has to deal with the unpleasant tasks of the day. Like meeting his mother for lunch. His biological mother. Not his real mother.

Rosalind had given them a generous cheque as a wedding present; it’s covering most of the day and the weekend. There had been a debate in the Nelson-Murdock household whether to invite her or not, which hadn’t been a debate at all, really, since they both knew they had to, even if they didn’t want to. Mercifully, Rosalind had declined to attend the reception, so would only be there for the ceremony.

That doesn’t stop him from feeling two inches tall as he sits across from her at the restaurant. He declines a glass of wine; there will be enough drinking later.

“So where’s _she_?” Rosalind asks. Demands.

“She’s with her bridesmaids. Getting ready. She’s going to the church early, to take confession before the ceremony.”

Rosalind hums disdainfully.

“She didn’t make you convert, did she?” she says.

“No. We took the Catholic marriage classes, that’s it.”

“I suppose they’re making her vow to love, honor and obey?”

“Actually, no. The new ceremony has us saying the same vows.” He takes a bite. “Mattie would never vow to obey anyone.”

Rosalind narrows her eyes, and takes a sip of wine.

It’s over quickly enough, or, actually, Foggy ends the lunch by making the excuse that he has things to do. Which isn’t a lie; he has to bring all his and Mattie’s luggage over to the Waldorf and check in. He balances the box of boutonnieres on his lap (yellow freesia), and lays the garment bag with his suit on the empty seat next to him in the cab. The Waldorf staff are unnervingly attentive, and he’s pretty sure he overtips the bellhop, but there’s a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket waiting for him, so he’ll admit that the Waldorf seems to have this customer service thing down.

He checks his watch. 2:00. The wedding’s at 4. He texts the room number to Candace and Jason, and changes the sheets for the silk ones from home, moves the wastepaper basket to his side of the bed, and sets out his supplies from home on the bedside table. For later. He’s just changing into his suit when there’s a knock on the door, and Candace and Jason pour in.

“We ran into each other in the lobby!” Candace says as she tosses her coat onto the bed. “The restoration is really nice!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty gorgeous.”

“How’re you doing?” Jason says, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Well, I had lunch with my biomom, so the day can really only go up from there.”

“I have something to help with that!” says Candace, all smiles. She pulls a bottle out of the big bag she’s carrying. “This is from Dad.”

It’s a twenty-year-old whiskey, proudly proclaiming its Irish heritage. Foggy smiles.

“Let’s get some glasses.”

It tastes like caramel and magic, filling his nose and slipping down his throat. When they finish, Candace checks her phone and declares they have ten minutes before they need to leave. Foggy puts on his tie, and the monogrammed tie bar Mattie gave him for Christmas. Candace pins the boutonniere to his lapel, then does Jason’s as well. Then she makes them crowd in for a selfie.

“OK, let’s get this guy married!” she crows as she hustles them out the door.

There aren’t many people at the church when they arrive, but they almost immediately start popping up. Candace acquires a bouquet when Karen swirls through checking last-minute details. Foggy spends most of the time greeting the guests; there’s no-one that he doesn’t know, and most of them are related to him. Clan Nelson spreads itself out over both sides of the church, knowing that keeping to the “bride’s side and groom’s side” rule would only be cruel. The photographer, a kid from Queens that Ben recommended, snaps photos of various groups. At 3:50, Rosalind sweeps in and plants herself near the back of the church, her lips pressed together. Jason gamely tries to say hello. He gets brushed off. Foggy’s father has better luck, managing a full one-minute conversation.

Foggy notices a nun sitting at the back of the church, about his mother’s age. He wonders if she’s from St Agnes’.

Then Father Lantom appears at his elbow, and quietly tells him that they’re about to start. Jason and Candace gather him up and stand with him next to the altar. He meets Candace’s eye, and she gives him an excited grimace, shaking with anticipation.

The music starts, and he has no idea what’s playing, even though he’s pretty sure Mattie asked his opinion about it. Karen’s walking first, pretty in pink, and she gives Foggy the brightest smile he’s ever seen on her. He smiles back, then looks beyond her.

Mattie’s walking on Pam’s arm, and he thinks she might take his breath away. Her dress is simple: long sleeves and a knee-length skirt, in a creamy-soft fabric that he’s sure she picked for its texture. There’s a yellow silk sash around her waist and yellow freesia in her hair, and he recognizes his mother’s pearl necklace around her neck. When she hands Pam her bouquet, he sees a blue ribbon wrapped around it. He reaches out and brushes his hand down her arm, before he takes her hand.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey,” she whispers back.

It’s a brisk ceremony; a few readings, a quick homily from Father Lantom in praise of love and commitment. Candace starts crying, which sets off Karen. Pam efficiently produces tissues. Then Father Lantom is asking them to stand for the vows.

“Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church,” he says. Foggy takes Mattie’s right hand in his own, and keeps his eyes on her face. She’s smiling, and she squeezes his hand.

“Do you, Franklin Nelson, take Matilda Murdock to be your wife?” says Father Lantom. “Do you promise to be true to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and honor her all the days of your life?”

“I do,” Foggy says, and he’s never meant anything more sincerely.

Father Lantom asks Mattie the same, and she says “I do,” and Foggy doesn’t need to hear her heartbeat to know how deeply she means it.

“You have declared your consent before the Church,” says Father Lantom. “May the Lord in his goodness strengthen your consent and fill you both with his blessings.” He looks out to the assembled guests. “What God has joined, men must not divide.”

“Amen,” comes the response (at least, from the guests who followed along in the programs provided).

“Do you have the rings?” Father Lantom says. Jason steps forward and places the rings in Father Lantom’s open palm. “May the Lord bless these rings which you give to each other as the sign of your love and fidelity.”

“Amen,” comes the response, a little more enthusiastically.

Father Lantom holds out his hand, and Foggy takes the smaller ring with his left hand. Mattie switches her hands so that his right is holding her left now. He slides the ring onto her finger, and repeats after Father Lantom, who speaks in an undertone.

“Matilda, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

He gently places Mattie’s hand on Father Lantom’s and she brushes her fingers over his palm, picking up the ring. He takes her right hand in his left, and she finds his ring finger, and slides the ring onto it.

“Franklin, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Her voice catches on “Father,” and he knows it’s not God the Father she’s thinking of.

Father Lantom smiles. “You may now exchange a kiss,” he says.

There are moments in Foggy’s life that are like pivot points, around which everything else has turned. A woman handing a baby to her former lover. A blind girl standing in a dorm room doorway. A man putting a gun on a table. This, with his hand on Mattie’s cheek and his lips on hers, is one of them.

The wedding’s not quite over yet - the Catholics love their blessings and prayers, so Father Lantom intones a few before he tells them all to go in peace. The music starts up, and Foggy leads Mattie down the aisle. His _wife_.

Peter, the photographer, snaps pictures of them as they approach the doors. Foggy glances over to Mattie, and she’s got that smile, the one that grabbed him that first day in his dorm room and never really let him go.

They wait by the doors as they’re mobbed by the guests (mostly Foggy’s family) wishing them congratulations, then Pam and Jason take charge, arranging for the photos in front of the altar. It seems like endless iterations, but Pam seems to have everything sorted out in her head (she must be a _great_ PA), and then it’s over, and they put on their coats and start grabbing cabs to the restaurant.

Foggy realizes that he didn’t see the nun after the ceremony.

He and Mattie share a cab, and make out like teenagers the entire way to the restaurant. It’s not a bad start to a marriage. At one point, he surfaces for air long enough to tell her she looks beautiful. She smiles, her fingers in his hair.

“You’re always beautiful,” she whispers.

Dinner is classic Italian at Pam’s friend Marcello’s restaurant. They have the private dining room, with a big table in the middle, and a small dance floor set up at the end of the room. Mattie’s record player is already set up, and Jason and Karen are arguing over which album to play (“Adele?” “Too many breakup songs.”) They settle on the soundtrack for _Once_. Marcello stops by while they’re eating to congratulate Mattie and Foggy.

After the main course is cleared away, Foggy’s parents stand up and give a short speech. “Mattie’s been a part of our family for years, now,” Foggy’s dad says, “but it’s always nice to make it official. We couldn’t be happier to call you our daughter-in-law.”

Then Pam: “As long as I’ve known Mattie, even when we were dating, Foggy was the one who was going to be there with her at the end of the day. He’s the one she was planning a future with, planning on growing old together. And he’s the one who could always make her smile. So, thanks, Foggy, for making her happy.”

And Jason: “I left this guy alone for two hours, and _I_ got my financial aid stuff fixed, and _he_ met the love of his life. Obviously, he had a better day than I did.” Jason tells the story of their first day of freshman year, claiming he’d known all along that Foggy was in love with Mattie (Foggy remembers it differently). “…and I tried for a whole damn _year_ to be a good wingman to Foggy. Except he kept saying that it wasn’t like that, and wouldn’t let me say anything to her. So, Mattie, here’s what I couldn’t say back then, and it’s still true now: whenever Foggy talks about you, he gets this big dumb grin on his face. And whenever you walk into a room, he looks like he just watched an angel descend from the heavens. And whenever you smile, he looks like he’s been hit by a truck. He doesn’t look anywhere else.” Foggy glances over at Mattie, and she’s got a watery smile on. “And Foggy?” Jason continues, “I’m gonna say _exactly_ what I said back then: you’re an idiot, and that girl’s clearly into you. Go for it.”

They laugh, and Foggy and Mattie hug Jason before he leads everyone in a toast to the bride and groom. Mattie and Foggy turn to the table, and thank everyone for their love and support. Foggy asks everyone to raise a glass again.

“To the one person who can’t be here tonight, but who is always with us in spirit. To Battlin’ Jack Murdock.”

He sees Mattie’s lip shake, and she covers it by taking a sip. He leans in and kisses her after he takes a drink, and she whispers “thank you” against his lips.

Then the cake is brought in (a _millefoglie_ ), and Mattie and Foggy cut it together before the servers sweep in to portion it out. Once it’s gone, Pam, ever on top of things, announces that it’s time for dancing. Karen switches records as Foggy leads Mattie onto the dance floor, and cues up the music. She grins at Foggy, and he grins back. The piano chords start, and there’s a little tittering as everyone starts to recognize the song.

“ _Now that she’s back in the atmosphere with drops of Jupiter in her hair…_ ”

No-one except Foggy and Mattie knows why they picked this song. They haven’t told anyone, they’re keeping this just for them. Mattie laughs as he spins her out, and he’s vaguely aware that there are other people dancing, but this moment is just about him, her, and Train. And the years between the first time they heard that song together and this time.

The song ends, and Karen switches the music over to the iPod Foggy loaded with a playlist. Foggy’s dad dances with Mattie, so Foggy dances with his mom. Foggy and Mattie are passed around the dance floor (Karen, then Candace, then Claire, then Elena…), until “Helpless” from _Hamilton_ is playing, and Mattie’s back in his arms.

“ _All I have’s my honor, a tolerance for pain, a couple of college credits and a top-notch brain_ ,” Lin-Manuel raps, and Foggy grins to see Mattie’s lips moving along. She totally knows all the words (he couldn’t be prouder).

They say goodnight around 11 - the older guests are already filtering out, and Pam and Karen say they’ll take care of the cleanup. Foggy leans over to Mattie.

“I think we just created an administrative super-team,” he whispers. She laughs.

A server calls them a cab, and he helps Mattie into her coat. Pam gives him the small overnight bag Mattie had taken with her, and he slips it onto his shoulder. They make the rounds, saying goodbye and thank you for coming, before they head out into the winter night.


	4. I Was Always Yours

Mattie leans her head against Foggy’s shoulder in the cab to the hotel. His heartbeat is strong and steady in her ear, and he’s humming “Drops of Jupiter” under his breath. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, and neither of them say anything, just basking in the glow of the fact that _they just got married_.

She runs her thumb over the band on her finger. Her engagement ring is on her right hand; she’ll wear them together on her left hand from now on. _A sign of my love and fidelity._

“Hey, did you notice the nun sitting at the back during the ceremony?” Foggy says, apropos of nothing.

“Mm, no, don’t think so.”

“Thought she might have been from St Agnes’.”

Mattie thinks for a moment. “Sister Magdalena’s the only one who’d really care.”

“Nah, it wasn’t her. And the wimple was a different color than the one Sister Magdalena wears.”

“Hm. No, then I wouldn’t know. Maybe she was visiting the church, and decided to stay.”

“Huh.”

The cab pulls up to the curb, and Foggy leads her inside. He describes the lobby, apparently beautifully restored after being damaged during the Incident. He holds up his phone for a selfie, and she smiles. He kisses her in the elevator, then leads her down the hall to their room.

He insists on carrying her into the room, which proves logistically challenging, since the door is heavy and weighted to close, so he has to lean with his back against it as Mattie swings herself into his arms, then pivot into the room. It’s less than graceful, and they’re both laughing as he deposits her on the couch opposite the bed. She pulls him down for another kiss.

“The hotel gave us a bottle of champagne,” he says, when she lets him go. “You want a glass?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” She sits up and takes off her shoes with a sigh. “I’m just gonna get this crap off my face first.”

After some hunting through her bags to find her makeup remover, she slips into the bathroom. She hears Foggy take off his jacket and tie, and pop the cork on the champagne and pour out two glasses as she cleans her face and unpins her hair. Karen had curled her hair this morning, and when she takes it down, she can feel it bouncing around her shoulders. She takes off Anna’s necklace and has it in her hand with her glasses when she steps back into room.

“Wow,” Foggy says as she puts the necklace away in her bag and drops her glasses on the coffee table.

“What?”

“OK, you can’t see it, but your hair looks amazing. Like, sexy bombshell hair.”

“Oh, you like it?”

“It is a very good look. Champagne?” He holds out a glass, which she takes. She hesitates.

“Thank you. For the toast. For my dad,” she says, sitting down on the couch next to him. He puts his arm around her.

“I owe him a lot,” he says. “I know I’ve said it, but I wish I could have met him.”

“Yeah, me too.”

His hand slides down her back.

“This was his, wasn’t it?” he says, tugging slightly at the sash around her waist.

“Yeah. From his robe. I just…wanted him to be part of today.”

He pulls her close and presses his lips against her temple.

“Glad he was,” he says.

She closes her eyes against the tears, and forces herself to smile.

“So, are we going to drink this, or not?” she says, holding up her glass.

“Right. Yes. Uh…” He raises his glass. “To the Columbia housing department. And whatever random algorithm put us next to each other.”

“God bless that little computer,” she says, and she clinks her glass against his.

They’re relaxed, not in any hurry, and still relatively sober. Mattie leans back and drapes her legs over Foggy’s lap as they drink their champagne, and Foggy’s fingers trace shapes on her calf. He tells her how things looked at the ceremony and the reception (“I’m still not sure about Pam’s lime green dress…” “Liar.”), tells her how happy everyone was (she knew that, but it’s nice to know that everyone was smiling, too). She’s almost finished her glass when his hand slides further up her leg, and then he stops.

“Are…Are those thigh-highs?” His fingertips are tracing the lacy top of her stocking.

“Yes,” she says, matter-of-factly, draining her glass. She puts it down on the coffee table. His hand is creeping higher, until his fingers are brushing the skin of her thigh just above the nylon.

“Anything else I should know about?”

“You’re welcome to find out,” she says smugly. He leans over her and kisses her, grinning, before putting his glass down on the coffee table. He drops to his knees in front of her, his hands on her thighs, and slowly pushes her skirt up. She tilts her head back, breathing heavily, as he spreads her legs, running his hand up her inner thigh. He slides a finger under the elastic top of her stocking.

“Do you want these on or off?” he says, his voice getting thick.

“Up to you,” she says, and the loudest sound in the room is their breathing.

He runs a finger under the top of her stocking, breaking the seal against her skin, and gently pulls the stocking down, careful not to tear it. He kisses her thigh, and she drags her lower lip between her teeth. He takes the other stocking off, and this time nips at the sensitive skin, high up on her thigh, and she moans and clutches at his hair, wanting him to tear off her underwear and bury his face between her legs.

He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “We should probably hang these clothes up before we do anything else.”

“Right. Yeah.”

He helps her up and out of her dress, stopping every so often to kiss any available skin. When she’s just in her lingerie, he holds her by her hips at arm’s length.

“You like it?” she says. She’s wearing the silk set that Pam helped her order online. Pam said it was vintage-style.

“Love it,” he says, kissing her as he runs his hands over her silk-clad ass. He pulls away to take off his clothes, and she goes to the closet to hang up her dress. When she’s done, she throws herself onto the bed, noting with a warm glow around her heart that Foggy put their silk sheets down. Foggy hangs up his suit, and climbs onto the bed next to her. He leans over her and kisses her, then laughs a little.

“What?” she says.

“No, it’s just…you’re my _wife_.”

“Yeah, that was kind of the point of today.” She pulls him back down for a kiss, feeling his skin against hers, his smile against her lips. He shifts so that he’s on top of her, his hands skimming over her body. She catches his left hand as it’s sliding up her hip, and brushes her fingertip over his ring. He takes her hand and laces their fingers together, then does the same with her left hand. “I love you,” she says, and he kisses her. “My husband,” she tries out.

“My wife,” he murmurs against her lips.

She decides she likes it.

He works his way down, first her throat, then her breasts, unhooking her bra, then down her stomach. He tries to slide his hand into the waistband of her French knickers (that was what the website had called them), and discovers that it’s not elasticated.

“Uh, how do I get you out of this?” he says, giving an experimental tug as she laughs.

“There are buttons on the side!” she says, tilting her hip up to show him.

“I thought those were, you know, decorative!” He flicks open the buttons, and pulls the knickers down, muttering about complicated lingerie.

“I can hear you,” she says, poking him with her foot. He grabs it and pushes it down to the bed, holding her by the ankles. She squirms playfully (if she were serious, she could have him on his back right now), but stops when she hears that he’s not laughing. He’s just still, arousal surrounding him in flames, and his heart beating hard. She sits up and puts her hand on his face. “What is it?”

He shakes his head, and kisses her palm. He brushes her hair back from her shoulder, and traces a finger over the scar on her chest, just under her collarbone. His hand flutters over her skin until he’s running his finger over the scar on her side, where the Russians had stabbed her. She lets her hand drift over his shoulder to his scar, from the night of the bombings.

“Been through a lot to get here, huh?” he breathes.

She takes his face between her hands as she nods, then kisses him.

“It was worth it,” she says. “To be with you.”

There’s a moment where she thinks she’s gone too far, said too much, opened up a wound not healed, but then he kisses her. 

“I’d do it all again,” he says, and he’s not lying. His kisses get more intense, and his hands on her more forceful as he pulls her against him. “I love you.”

She manages to push his boxers down, and she grips him, already hard, stroking him as he pants into her mouth. He groans her name, pleading, until he pushes two fingers inside her.

“I want -“ he gasps.

“- yeah -“ she interrupts, not bothering to let him finish, because she can hear the rhythm of his body, smell him, taste it in the air. His fingers slide out of her, and she takes her hand off his cock, and he guides her onto her back, his tongue in her mouth. He breaks it off to (very gracefully) clamber over to the other side of the bed, where the box that she assumes is condoms is sitting on the bedside table. She’s almost floating on the silk sheets, her senses starting to stretch out from her, and she hears him tearing one off the strip, and opening the packet. The foil lands with a swish of plastic in a wastepaper basket next to the bed, which he must have put there when he’d checked in earlier.

_Foggy Nelson: always thinking ahead._

He crawls back to her, kissing her lips, then her neck, then her shoulder as he positions himself between her legs. He sucks at her breast, squeezing the nipple between his teeth, pulling his name out of her, before he guides himself inside her.

Time is meaningless; her senses are working at a fever pitch. Foggy kisses her, Foggy strokes her clit, Foggy thrusts inside her; she has no concept of sequence, they’re all happening at once, her body is only aware of _Foggy, Foggy, Foggy_ , surrounding her and inside her. She’s barely aware of her own orgasm, because Foggy is still there, an ocean drowning her and an island sheltering her.

Reality only seeps back in slowly, in dribs and drabs. She knows when Foggy comes inside her, and pulls out, because she can’t feel his heartbeat inside her any more. The cold shocks her skin when he rolls away from her to throw away the condom. When he touches her again to gather her in his arms, it’s almost too much, now that her body is coming down from its high. His fingers are in her hair, and _Jesus Christ_ , it’s an exaggeration to say she could come from her _hair_ being stroked, but right now it doesn’t seem too far off.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Love you too,” she mumbles, pressing her nose against his skin. “You smell so good.”

He laughs, the vibrations running through his body to her. “That’s your ego talking. You just like smelling yourself on me.” He scritches her scalp behind her ear. “Kitty.”

“Asshole.”

“Too late. We consummated, this whole thing’s legal now. No take-back.”

With a groan, she levers herself up, and swings her leg over him so that she’s straddling his legs.

“I think what you’re saying is…” She crawls up his body, taking his arms and pinning them above his head. “You’re _mine_.” She grins, her nose just brushing his. He tries to lean up to kiss her, and she pulls back, teasing him. He throws his head against the pillow.

“I was always yours,” he says. It’s the truth. “Always will be.”

She does kiss him then, bringing her hands down to hold his face. His arms wrap around her.

“All the days of my life,” she says.

“All the days of my life.”

However many she has left, she’ll be his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want an idea of what Mattie's wedding night lingerie looks like, this is pretty much what I had in mind: https://www.kissmedeadly.co.uk/shop/product/2530/eleanor-almond-french-knicker
> 
> Thanks, everyone, for reading! I love hearing that you guys are getting invested in these characters and their relationship. :)


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